Hush My Dear It's Been A Difficult Year
by Distilled Happiness
Summary: Jac and Fletch deal with the aftermath of the latest crisis to hit the hospital It seemed silly now, but she was here and he was waiting and she had to ask. Had to say it. "Can't have been easy – earlier." "Jac, I ain't got time for you bein' cryptic t'day. There's still a million things t' sort an-" "The lift." "What lift?" "You were stuck in the lift." "So?"


**Hush My Dear It's Been A Difficult Year**

* * *

She had just vacated HDU after berating Sacha for trying to sit up – again – when she spotted him, hurrying in the direction of the stairs. The last time she'd seen him, Hanssen had all but told him to piss off and go do his job. She'd not had time, not had the chance, to ask him to stay. To come up with a reason why she needed _his_ help in fixing Sacha. Donna had been competent enough, and she still would've had to beg Connie for assistance even if he'd been in there with her.

Abandoning whatever task she'd decided to tackle, Jac sped off after him. Dodging past various nurses and point-blank ignoring Nicky as she called for her attention. Zosia could deal with it. She had more pressing matters. Concern for him was still nagging at her as it had been all day. Shunted to the back of her mind at time perhaps, but always there. He was always there.

Instead of racing down the main stairwell, Fletch darted round the corridor once he reached the double doors at the end of the ward, heading down the theatre corridor instead. She had a moment's confusion, wondering what he was doing and if he'd hit his head at some point during the day, before she reasoned that he was probably using her trick of tacking the backstairs. Less people to deal with.

He was halfway down the first flight when she managed to catch up to him enough to be within earshot of a half-shout.

"Hey!"

He stopped. Entire body freezing as he came to a reluctant halt, hand clutching at the worn banister as he prepared to launch himself around the turn and down the next flight. Fletch slowly twisted toward her, face haggard. Usually he stood straight backed and proud, a constant confident and assured presence in the face of whatever shitstorm was thrown at them, but as she caught up to him, she could see his shoulders drooping under the weight of the day. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, top button undone and tie crooked – as if he'd seized hold of the knot in order to yank the thing off but had been interrupted before he could finish the process.

"Hey y'self."

"You alright?" Jac asked, coming to a standstill a respectable distance away. A few months ago she would have stepped closer. Would have lingered merely a step or two above him now that she had him detained in the relative isolation of the backstairs – so that they stood eye to eye. Would have leant into him slightly to feel the heat of his body against her own. Probably straightened his tie. Any excuse to touch him. Smiled and held his gaze – maybe reached out for his hand as she asked how he was. But things had changed since then. This very precious, very special thing that they had been nurturing for over a year wasn't the same anymore.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Fletch challenged, half glaring at her. "Just 'nother day the office."

"Yeah," she agreed bleakly, slightly miffed and crossing her arms over her chest to try and hide it. "So everyone keeps saying."

He seemed preoccupied, attention clearly elsewhere, and Jac realised with a sudden rush how selfish she was being. Keeping him here just to satisfy her own concerns when other people needed him more than she did. Delaying him as he mopped up after the shitting computer virus just to make herself feel a bit better about the whole sodding thing. To make it all the worse, all the more awkward, she no longer knew where she stood with him. No longer brimmed with confidence that he enjoyed it when she waylaid him in disused corners just so they could have a chat. Have a little flirt. Exchange banter and updates on the kids' antics. Complain about meetings and the Board and the latest cuts that had been made. Check in with one another. That air of thrilling anticipation surrounding them as the rest of the world faded away while they loitered easily in their little bubble. Deaf to the gossip that clung stubbornly to the hospital grapevine.

But he had been so withdrawn lately. Distant from her and she no longer knew how to reach him. didn't know if she could. Every conversation felt strained. Forced. She kept searching for that _thing_ they'd had before – that undefinable quality that had drawn them together in the first place. But she couldn't find it. Couldn't catch hold of it. That day on AAU, when she had been stressed as fuck and he had decided that helping her was easier than going to his stupid interview, that had been when it'd started. When the initial spark had ignited without either of them being aware of it. Before long a raging wildfire had spread far beyond their control and all they could do was ride it out. Hope they weren't consumed in the process. They were balanced on the edge; hovering between _something_ and _nothing_. One wrong move and this thing they'd created together would smoulder into a million ashen pieces that could never be put back together.

"Somethin' you wanted?" Fletch asked with an air of dismissal. Stinging hurt blazed through her; Jac almost recoiled from him before she stamped it down. Tucked it away so he wouldn't see. But perhaps he'd still caught something of it, seen the hurt flash across her face, because his eyes closed and he let out a heavy sigh. Running his hand through his hair, and judging by how dishevelled it already was he'd been doing that a lot throughout the day, Fletch gave her his 'sorry, rough day' look. Well at least she still knew his looks.

It seemed silly now, but she was here and he was waiting and she had to ask. Had to say it. "Can't have been easy – earlier."

He looked at her blankly for a moment. Then swore. "Sod this – Jac I ain't got time for you bein' cryptic t'day. There's still a million things t' sort an–"

"The lift," she elaborated quickly, cutting him off before his rant gained full momentum. Feeling slightly uncomfortable, just standing there under his cool gaze, she unfolded her arms and shoved her hands into her pockets for something to do.

"What lift?"

Jac rolled her eyes. Was he being dense on purpose? "You were stuck in the lift."

"So?" there was an edge to his voice that she'd rarely heard before – and never directed at her. Of course, now she was just pissing him off. Christ's sake! When had it become so hard for them to have a conversation?

"_Raf's_ lift."

Fletch paled. For a moment he didn't do or say anything: but his eyes were bright, his jaw was clenched, and she could hear his shaking breaths echoing loudly in the empty stairwell as he turned to look away. His knuckles went white as he gripped the cool handrail. "It's fine," he said in a tone that suggested it was anything but. "I'm fine. Didn't even cross me mind. I, er … I gotta go. Management crap an' all that t' deal with."

"Oh, yeah – sure. Okay." Jac backed up a step, nearly stumbling over her own feet. "I've – I've got Sacha to anyway and–" she shrugged because she got it. She shouldn't have said anything. But if she didn't then who would?"

"How is he?" Fletch inquired as he swung back to face her.

Jac blinked. "Um – fine. Feeling sorry for himself, but alive. Thank the ever loving fuck. It wasn't his fault, despite his terrible driving. I, er," she cleared her throat, itching an imaginary itch at the side of her neck. "I just hope he doesn't spiral because of it. I mean, if someone had died…"

"But they didn't."

"No. By some fucking miracle."

Fletch nodded his agreement and turned to head off again. Their conversation once more trickling away like the last dregs of the bath down the drainpipe. Neither really knew what else to say. Jac glanced over his shoulder, staring at the grimy window wondering why she'd felt the need to speak to him – and wondering what had possessed her to use such a pathetic excuse as Raf in order to orchestrate a dialog in the first place. If he _hadn't_ been thinking about it, he sure as hell was now. Because of her. But instead of walking away, Fletch twisted back to her yet again.

"What 'bout you?"

"What about me what?"

"Donna said it was touch and go for a while in theatre."

"And?" Jac shifted, half shrugging a shoulder. "How is that different to any other day?"

"It's different," Fletch explained patiently, "because your hand is shakin'."

Jac looked down. Sure enough, much to her surprise and confusion, he was right. She formed a fist to try and stop the unwelcome tremor, frowning darkly because where the fuck had this come from? "It's – I'm fine." Wasn't she?

"The last time we 'ad a crisis," he began, reaching across the space and taking her trembling extremity between his own. "The last time–"

"The last time was different," Jac dismissed, pulling away. How many times in the past year had she reached out, afraid and alone, for his hand? How many times had he reached for hers? A confirmation, an assurance, that life still flowed through veins and arteries and tiny capillaries. A means to say everything that words just couldn't. _I need you. I trust you. I love you._ "It was different for so many reasons."

"Yeah," he shrugged and bit his lip. "Yeah. I mean – _shit_ that day was … it was somethin' else."

Jac could only nod. There was more. He had more to say – lots more, if his sudden agitation was anything to go by. Fingers tapping insistently against the handrail. Like he was at once fighting the words, and yet desperate to let them out. She got the impression he'd been holding back for months; thoughts and feelings festering deep within him since the shooting. Forever teetering on the edge of speech but never finding the right moment to do so. Nothing about this suggested to Jac that it was the right moment … but perhaps it was the only one he could find.

"I kept ringin' and ringin' … 'cause I knew–" he pointed a finger at her, eyes blazing, _"I knew_ that you weren't okay. I mean, how – how could y' be? After what 'appened in theatre with Gaskell." He laughed at that, a dark, spiteful laugh at himself, hand going to the back of his head. "Fuck me – why didn't I see it then? His first day an' he _goaded _you int'…"

She reached out to him, unsure what else to do. Her hand flat on his chest she could feel the rapid beating of his heart beneath it. Feel the heat of his skin through the soft material of his shirt. The firmness of his chest. He'd started hitting the gym after she'd gone on leave last year. She knew because shortly after she'd returned, fresh from surgery, she had walked into the locker room one evening in time to see him yanking off his scrubs. Faced with a shirtless Adrian Fletcher who was noticeably more muscular than he'd been two and a half months ago, Jac had floundered a bit, then turned right around and fled before she could do or say something incredibly stupid. She'd made a point in the months since, however, to need something from her locker whenever she knew that he was changing, just so that she could steal glances at him. Keep track of his progress. Make sure he wasn't slacking.

Toned and lean and defined and fuck that wasn't flesh beneath her palm, that was _muscle_.

"I'm okay," she whispered. _"I'm okay."_ They had all suffered trauma fifteen months ago, in one form or another, so it was only natural that what happened today had brought it all up again. And as much as she tried to deny that it was so for herself – she had enough trauma to be dealing with thanks to her shitty childhood – they had all been mercilessly fucked over by Fredrik Johansson. She'd just never considered that she was part of Fletch's trauma. Never realised that it wasn't just what had happened to Raf that had fucked him about that day – it was what had happened to her too.

"I know, I know," he was saying. "But you weren't, was you?"

"I–" her throat closed.

"I kept ringin' … I kept – I was stuck outside an' I kept ringin' you 'cause _I knew_ you weren't gone. Y' car was still in its spot an' … and y' _wouldn't answer_ and then…"

"And then Essie answered," Jac finished, her stomach churning uncomfortably because Christ if she had been the one trying to call him, knowing he was still inside with a gunman on the loose, only for someone else to answer… Her hand curled into a fist, seizing hold of his shirt as he climbed the few steps needed to eliminate the distance between them. Fletch's hands came to rest on her shoulders; fingers trailing down arms to cradle elbows. Face inches from her own. Eyes as level as their height difference allowed.

"I – I thought you were dead," he confessed in a hoarse breath. "I – when she answered … she said you'd been – that you'd been shot. I thought you were dead, I thought–" words failed him. Not entirely sure why she was doing, not consciously aware of making the decision to do it, Jac stroked his face with gentle fingers. Stubble prickling the palm of her hand, warm skin jumping beneath her touch as blood raced to match the sudden increase of his heart. Fletch rested his temple against hers for a moment, breathing heavily, all that fear he'd never properly addressed thundering through him.

Then strong fingers closed around hers. Skin startlingly tan against her pale complexion. Movements stilled, no longer able to trace out the crinkles of inevitable age – around the eyes and at the corners of the mouth – or to just feel the heat of his skin against her own. Jac tore her gaze from his lips to find he was already staring at her. Eyes grey in the dingy light of the stairwell. She didn't care that he had grey in his beard and thin pale streaks of it in his slicked-back hair too. Wasn't worried about the fact that she hadn't known him when he was younger and more carefree; liked that he'd lived just as much as she had. Made as many stupid mistakes as she'd made…

Fletch pulled away, though he didn't get far as Jac still had a firm hold on his shirt. She dropped her other hand when he released her fingers, a silent apology for the way she'd skipped casually and unthinkingly over that line that had lain firmly between them since October. "Like I said," she murmured. "Can't have been easy for you today – stuck in that lift."

He smiled at her, something glinting in his eyes. Something like awe. "How'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Keep goin' even when you're fallin' apart?"

Jac held his stare for a long moment, not quite sure what to say. She shrugged a shoulder, suddenly embarrassed at the way she was still clutching at his shirt. She forced herself to release him, smoothing out the wrinkles and figured, since he was being truthful about that day she might as well be too. "When I was shot … when I was – when I was lying there, in the basement, _dying_ … three things went through my mind."

She dared a glance up at him. Somewhere in the hospital a door slammed shut, echoing up the backstairs. He didn't flinch; attention unwaveringly upon her.

"The first was, naturally, Emma. I knew she was safe. That she wasn't even here. That she'd be okay because she had Jonny. Then I remembered that Jasmine had been found…" air escaped her lungs in a soundless breath. She cleared her throat, but it didn't add any strength to her voice. "I, er, I remembered that she'd been found bleeding out just round the corner from where I was… For a moment I think I thought I heard her. Calling for help. But I couldn't move. And I – I knew she was already dead and … and there I was…" she frowned at his crumpled shirt. Easier to speak to the hand on his chest than look him in the eye. "There was a strange sense of irony to it all. It felt – it felt somewhat missing somehow. Like – like maybe our stories were always meant to end down there."

They stood there for a long moment. All but wrapped in one another, alone and together in the dusty stairwell. When she didn't speak, Fletch cleared his throat, the noise stark and almost harsh in the silence. "An'–" she watched his throat flex as he swallowed. "And the' last thing?"

Jac shrugged a shoulder, an attempted to perhaps lessen the gravity of the truth she was going to give to him. To maybe try and pretend that this wasn't yet another declaration of the depth to which her feelings for him went. Feelings that she wasn't willing to act upon. "You. Just you. I was scared … so I thought of you."

A disbelieving smile hovered on his lips. "Why?"

She fiddled with his tie, absently reaching up to straighten the crooked knot. "Because when I'm with you I don't feel afraid. You make me brave, Fletch … and – and I was dying. I could _feel_ myself dying … and I knew that I needed to be brave."

He pressed his lips to her forehead as he'd once done a year ago now, before she'd ran. Ran and ran and ran but all she'd found was how unable she was to escape him. Fletch took her face between his hands and held her with the same understanding and tenderness and fucking sincerity as he'd done after stating in no uncertain terms tha they were going to talk. _About what? About everything we haven't been_. Jac let out a shaky breath, blinking harshly against the wetness in her eyes.

"Y'know," he whispered softly. "You do know, don't you? That this is why we can't go back t' how it were before, right?"

Devastation seeped through her, cold and unforgiving. Was this – did he really think this? Was this why he'd been drifting away from her since Christmas? Holding back and not quite fobbing her off, but not reaching out to her either. So it was truly broken, then? What they had. She'd broken it, hadn't she? When she'd said she didn't want to try; when she'd said she couldn't be what he or his kids deserved. When she'd lied. Lied because it was easier than admitting that loving him scared the shit out of her.

Jac stumbled back a step, desperate, suddenly franticly desperate, to get away from him. To run. To hide. To flee. Because fuck she should know better by now! Just handing out her heart willy-nilly to whichever idiot said the right thing at the right moment. Should have known that he'd have already moved on while she was still floundering, drowning, in it. Clinging to that special, precious, thing that they had found. That she had ruined. But as fast as she was in squirming free so she could run – run and run and run – Fletch was faster.

"No – wait!" He grabbed her wrist, tugging her back to him. Recaptured her fingers and held her hand over his chest. "I – there's always gonna be _more_ that we can be, Jac," he explained desperately. "You tellin' me all this … an' after everythin' that's happened t'day … I mean, it's _always_ gonna be there, init?" Fletch shrugged helplessly. "And … I don't think I really want it t' go away. See, I _like_ feelin' this way about you."

Jac fought through the tightening in the back of her throat. "Fletch … we've been through this. I–"

"Don't want to."

"Am _afraid_ to."

She hadn't intended to tell him that – hadn't thought she was brave enough to admit it without explaining _why_ she was so scared. Jac ploughed onward, because after all, he made her brave. Made her feel like anything was possible. Like she wasn't some broken pariah who poisoned everything she touched. "I never said I didn't want to. Never said that … I never _meant_ to make you think that I didn't…" God, why was it so hard to get the words out? "It's just … I – I'll ruin you. I'll ruin your kids. I just … I am the _last_ thing you need."

He looked at her with an odd expression. "Keep tellin' y'self that, Jac. Maybe one day you'll believe it and maybe then I'll be able t' let us go."

With a small smile and a gentle hand to her cheek, thumb briefly – accidentally? – striking her bottom lip, Fletch stepped back, turning on his heel. Before Jac could fully process it, before she could wrap her mind around what he'd implied, he was hurrying down the stairs to resume whatever mission she'd interrupted. Perhaps he was right. Maybe they _couldn't_ go back to how it was before; pretend that they didn't feel the way they did about one another. Maybe it was wrong to want to.

_In another universe, we are absolutely rockin' what we have._

_Just not this one._

Why not this one?

* * *

A/N: _title from _Bad Liar_ by Imagine Dragons_

_Oh, hush, my dear, it's been a difficult year  
And terrors don't prey on innocent victims  
Trust me, darlin', trust me darlin'_

_..._

_I can't breathe, I can't be  
I can't be what you want me to be  
Believe me, this one time  
Believe me_


End file.
